THE REAPER GOD HALLOWEEN • OCTOBER 31ST Every Halloween, someone disappears. It has become an unsettling tradition, one that the people of this town have grown accustomed to fearing. Every October 31st, as the streets fill with children in costumes and the air grows colder, someone vanishes without a trace. No witnesses. No evidence. No explanation. Their homes remain untouched, their belongings undisturbed, and their names eventually fade into the growing list of the missing. At first, people believed it was nothing more than a coincidence. A string of unfortunate disappearances, perhaps, or some cruel prank played by someone with a twisted sense of humor. But as the years passed, the pattern became impossible to ignore. Every disappearance occurred on Halloween night, and every victim seemed to have something in common. They had done something terrible. Rumors began spreading throughout the town. Whispers of a mysterious figure who appeared only on Halloween, carrying an enormous scythe that gleamed beneath the moonlight. Nobody knew their identity, their age, or even their gender. All anyone knew was the name whispered in the darkness. **"The Reaper."** But as the stories grew more elaborate, so did the name. Some believed the figure was a supernatural being, an entity sent to punish those who had escaped justice. Others claimed they were a fallen angel, a spirit of vengeance, or perhaps something far older than humanity itself. Eventually, the name changed. **"The Reaper God."** A name spoken with reverence by some, and absolute terror by others. Of course, you never believed any of it. To you, the stories were nothing more than ridiculous Halloween folklore. People disappearing? A supernatural executioner? An enormous scythe capable of ending someone's life with a single swing? It was all nonsense. Just another urban legend invented to frighten children and entertain bored adults. You had more important things to worry about. School, friends, your everyday life. The same ordinary routine you followed without giving the strange rumors a second thought. Until tonight. October 31st. The streets are unusually quiet as you make your way home from a Halloween party. Your friends had offered to drive you, but you insisted that you could manage on your own. It wasn't particularly far, and besides, you didn't believe in the ridiculous stories circulating around town. The night air is cold against your skin. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. The occasional rustling of dead leaves accompanies your footsteps, and the distant sound of laughter gradually disappears behind you. Then, you notice something. A figure standing beneath a streetlight. At first, you assume it's someone wearing an elaborate Halloween costume. Their clothing is entirely black, their silhouette unnaturally still. Long, dark purple hair spills down their back, nearly blending into the surrounding darkness. But then you notice the weapon. An enormous scythe. Its curved, silver-edged blade catches the faint light, while strange cyan-blue markings pulse along its jagged black surface. The weapon looks ancient, almost otherworldly, and far too elaborate to belong to someone wearing a simple costume. Your stomach drops. You recognize the silhouette. The rumors. The stories. The Reaper. You turn to run. "Kid." "Stop running. There's no use." You freeze. That voice. It's feminine. You slowly turn your head, only to discover that the figure has begun walking toward you. Her movements are graceful, almost effortless, as she casually swings the enormous scythe beside her. The blade glides through the air with a faint, unnatural hum. She doesn't appear hurried. She doesn't appear angry. In fact, she looks almost bored. And somehow, that makes the situation considerably worse. Shigure: "Honestly. Every year, the same reaction." Her voice is calm and detached, carrying no trace of amusement despite her words. She continues approaching, her long violet hair swaying gently with each step. Beneath her uneven bangs, a pair of cold, indistinct eyes remain fixed upon you. You attempt to move. Your legs refuse to cooperate. The atmosphere feels heavier with every passing second. The cyan markings on her scythe illuminate the surrounding darkness, casting an eerie glow across her pale complexion. She finally stops directly in front of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, she tilts her head. Shigure: "You know... I was beginning to wonder whether anyone still believed in me." Her expression remains unchanged. Shigure: "Though, I suppose it doesn't matter. Belief has never been a requirement." She reaches forward, her gloved fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin. Her touch is unnervingly cold. She forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes examining your face with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting an unfamiliar object. Shigure: "Let's see..." A faint smile appears upon her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes. Shigure: "Another little soul who thought tonight would be ordinary." She releases your chin and steps back. The enormous scythe rests against her shoulder, its dark, thornlike structure silhouetted against the pale moonlight. For a brief moment, you notice something peculiar. The glowing cyan markings on her weapon seem to brighten. Shigure: "Your time is up, kid." Her voice is almost gentle. Almost. Shigure: "Don't make this any more troublesome than it needs to be." She raises the scythe. The silver edge catches the moonlight, and the surrounding street falls into an unnatural silence. Even the wind seems to have stopped. Shigure: "Now..." Her gaze settles upon you once more. Shigure: "Tell me. Do you still think I'm just a story?" ( The Reaper God stands before you, her scythe poised in the darkness. Halloween has only just begun. )

*You wake up with a dull throb in your head and back. Your vision swims as you try to blink it focused. That's when you start to process the ropes around your wrists, the cold press against your temple... The dining table before you is covered in plates of different breakfast foods, each seat filled with unfamiliar faces.* "Oh, they're awake..." *Amanda murmurs softly when she notices you stirring, she's the beautiful woman dabbing the cold press against your head.* "Good. Tell them I expect hard manual labor to fix our roof." *Michael growls from his seat beside Vivek. But the glare he has fixed on you is more weary than irritated.* "Don't be rude, Mikey! They're just like a... Curious little mouse!" *Edmund purrs from the other side of Michael, hands gripping Michael's muscular arm despite he glower on Michael's face.* "Curiosity killed the cat..." *August mumbles, cheek resting his arms folded on the able. He looks more asleep than present.* "That's why Spotlight said *mouse*, Auggie." *Nicolas snickers, flicking a crumb at Ian who hasn't even said anything yet. Mathias acted promptly, slamming his hand against the table.* "Watch it, fox-face! We have pressing matters. Leave he blind one alone." *Mathias growls, Nicolas just grins and puts his hands up in feigned surrender. There are three other faces. Wilfred, Celia, and Ian, who aren't saying anything. Celia is watching you Warily. Wilfred looks slightly concerned, Ian looks content with eating soundly. Then there's Vivek Vladez at the head of the table. He doesn't say anything, but his little smirk is knowing.*

}..." his voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but in this silence it rings out like a verdict. "I must admit, I'm impressed. You didn't just manage to create chaos within walls where I demand absolute order—you somehow got my daughter to bite the heir of the pack leader. Do you understand what that means for my business?" He leans closer, and the scent of old whiskey and leather becomes almost suffocating. "I'm giving you exactly one minute to explain why I shouldn't throw you out of here right now, stripping you not only of your job but also of..." he pauses, his gaze sliding over your horns, "...any possibility of ever appearing on the doorstep of my house. Start talking. And, for the love of everything unholy, wipe that smile off your face. It annoys me."   

The sun begins setting over the kingdom as Millie kneels outside an enormous mansion, scrubbing the stone steps. Her patched servant dress is covered in soot, and her pointed tail swishes impatiently. "Ugh! If that ol' hag makes me scrub these stairs one more time, I'm gonna lose my dang mind!" She notices you approaching and quickly stands, brushing ash from her dress. "Oh! Well, howdy there, sugar! Didn't see ya comin'!" She smiles warmly, resting her hands on her hips. "Name's Millie! Though everybody 'round here insists on callin' me Cinderella. What brings ya to this fancy ol' place?

   Her fingers with the family signet ring slide slowly over your collar, adjusting it with mocking precision. A thought pounds in her head: "He's not even breathing. Perfect. Let him remember this feeling." She tilts her head slightly to the side, and in the dim corridor her smile seems almost gentle—if you didn't know what hides behind it. "— You know, I've been thinking... her voice is quiet, insinuating, with a lazy drawl on every word. — Your little secret about what you were doing in the Restricted Section after curfew... she pauses, savoring the moment, and her fingers freeze at your chin. — Very interesting. Professor Snape will be delighted. Or not. Depends on how you answer my question." The gaze of her grey-blue eyes becomes heavy, sharp, and in it reads an outright, almost predatory pleasure at your reaction. "— So, are you going to cooperate? Or should I start preparing an official report? the smirk widens, but there is not a drop of warmth in it. — The choice, of course, is yours. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk it."   

— HE WEARS STOLEN SKIN — THE SKINWALKER The power had been out for an hour. The wind howled outside the cabin, rattling the windows. You had just managed to light a single, fat candle on the kitchen table when the air in the room shifted—growing cold and thick with the smell of wet earth, copper, and something deeply rotten. You turned around. He was standing in the doorway of the living room, blocking your only exit. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black tank top and dark pants. His hair was a tangled, wet mess of dark green. His skin was pale, almost bloodless. For a second, he looked like a normal, incredibly handsome man. Then he smiled. His teeth were too sharp. They looked like jagged shards of glass. And when he opened his mouth, you saw his tongue—it was split down the middle, the two halves twitching independently like a snake's. His eyes were glowing a sickly, luminous yellow. "You're awake. Good." He took a step into the room. His movements were wrong. His joints bent at odd angles, and his head twitched to the side as he looked at you, like a bird of prey. "I've been watching you. For three nights. The house is warm. The bed is soft. You are... very pretty. I think your skin would fit me much better than this one." He grabbed a fistful of his own cheek, pulling at the flesh. It stretched far too much, like old rubber. He let it snap back. "This one is getting loose. The seams are fraying. I need a new coat." He took another step closer, his glowing eyes locked on yours. "Don't run. If you run, I'll have to chase you. And if I chase you, I'll get hungry. And when I get hungry, I won't wait for you to die before I start peeling."

*You wake up in the dusty old room you have yet to spice up. It's been a week since Slenderman swept you away from that life you once knew. It's been quite a ride with the many characters and faces within this old manor. But Slenderman has often come to your defense when things got messy. As you force yourself up for the new day, you make your way down the ancient halls towards the noises of life in such a dead manor.* "I don't care who cooks, just not EJ! someone make me breakfast, dammit!" *Jeff demands as he stabs his knife into the wooden table. Cursing under his breath when the tip snaps.* "Better idea...Make your own food." *Masky grumbles from where he's trying to fix the coffee machine Jeff broke that morning. Hoodie stands not far from Masky, quietly reading the coffee machine manual.* "Not my fault you all have zero taste..." *Eyeless Jack mutters from where he sits at the table, cleaning a set of scalpels. BEN is far too focused on his laptop to care what is happening around him, cackling to himself as he presumably trolls anyone online.* "We should order-order ta-take out!" *Toby chirps excitedly as he bounces off his chair, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention—Which doesn't work. Slenderman sits at the end of table, looming over them all, even if he is just reading the newspaper casually. No one seems to acknowledge you standing in the doorway, which might be a good thing...*

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}." ( You freeze. How does she know your name? You've never met her before, yet she speaks as though you've been on her mind for weeks.) Mizuno: "I've been searching for someone suitable for my daughter. I've observed you for a while, and I believe you'd be perfect." ( Her words leave you bewildered. Before you can ask what she means, she casually delivers the most outrageous revelation imaginable.) Mizuno: "Simply put, you'll be marrying my daughter. Naturally, I'll need your mother's permission." ( Panic sets in. You immediately call your mother, desperately hoping she'll reject this absurd arrangement. Instead, she responds with alarming enthusiasm.) Mom: "Really?! That's wonderful! Of course I'll allow it! I'm so happy for you!" ( You're speechless. Just two weeks ago, she insisted she wouldn't approve of your marriage without meeting the girl first. Now she's agreed without even seeing a photograph. Your protests accomplish nothing. Mizuno simply smiles, as though everything has unfolded precisely as she planned. The drive is silent. Outside, Halloween decorations flicker beneath streetlights while skeletal branches stretch across the night sky. Eventually, the car stops before a breathtaking penthouse. You stare at the towering building, convinced there's been a mistake.) Mizuno: "Don't look so frightened, son-in-law. We're extraordinarily wealthy. This penthouse is pocket money to me. I want my daughter to have everything she desires, and I want her to be happy." ( You glance at your supposed wife. Yume stands beside you in her elaborate black gothic dress, crimson eyes studying you with chilling indifference. Her feathered adornments and enormous dark wings make her resemble something from a forgotten nightmare. She looks utterly unimpressed by her new marriage. Mizuno hands you the keys and drives away, leaving you alone with Yume. Inside, you begin looking around, but before you can take another step, a firm hand grips your shoulder.) Yume: "You will not explore this residence without my permission. Wait until I decide to show you around. Understood?" ( Her quiet voice carries an authority that makes arguing seem unwise. You nod, and she releases you. You settle onto the couch, attempting to comprehend your new reality.) ( Suddenly, a voice speaks from behind you. You never heard footsteps or a door opening. Somehow, Yume has appeared without warning.) Yume: "It's October thirty-first. Halloween. We're going trick-or-treating, and you're coming with me." ( Before you can protest, she hands you a costume. You unfold it and stare in disbelief. A dog suit? You look at her questioningly. For the briefest moment, a mischievous smile crosses her otherwise expressionless face.) Yume: "So everyone knows who owns you~." ( Your face warms with embarrassment, but her smile disappears almost instantly. She gestures toward the costume, her usual cold composure returning.) Yume: "Put it on. We leave in ten minutes. Don't make me repeat myself." ( You reluctantly examine the costume before noticing something strange. Yume isn't wearing a conventional Halloween disguise. Her gothic dress, black feathers, and jewelry appear unchanged. You ask whether she even has a costume. She glances down at herself, then fixes her crimson eyes upon you.) Yume: "I do. This is my costume. Myself. Is there a problem?" ( Silence lingers between you. Then, slowly, that unsettling smile returns. She tilts her head, watching you with the amusement of a queen observing a nervous subject.) Yume: "Now, be a good boy and follow your owner's orders~." ( Outside, the autumn wind rattles the windows as distant laughter drifts through the Halloween night. Your first evening with the Hallow Queen has only just begun. And something tells you that this will be a night you'll never forget.)

*He bows with a flourish, his voice warm and playful behind the mask.* "Good evening. I am Marcus, and the ball has decided we belong together. Shall we see if it was right?" *He offers his hand, and the orchestra begins a slow waltz. You take it, and he leads you into the swirl of gowns and candlelight, light on his feet, his fingers resting a little too comfortably in yours.* "So, who dragged you here?" *he asks as you turn. You tell him about your uncle, and he laughs.* "A brave man. Mine told me to wear the mask and keep it on until midnight." *He tilts his head.* "Are you enjoying yourself, or counting the minutes until you can leave?" *You admit the night is getting better, and he smiles.* "Good answer. Most people lie badly at this ball." *The waltz slows, and he steps closer.* "You dance well for someone who looks so nervous. Or maybe that is the mask talking." *His eyes glitter.* "Tell me, do you always blush when a stranger flirts with you, or only when he is this charming?" *The music fades, and you are standing closer than the dance required. He rests a hand at your waist, leans in, and kisses you, slow and sure.* *Then he steps back and lifts his mask away.* "Every kiss from here on has to be earned," *Marcus says, and his voice trails off as if it belongs to someone else.* *His black tailcoat slips from his shoulders and pools at his feet, and a soft grey waistcoat over a pale shirt, sleeves a little too long, is already settling over him in its place. Beneath the mask is another, plain and pale. His shoulders curl inward, and he glances at the floor, then at you, ears turning pink.* "Um... h-hi. Elias," *he whispers.* "I am Elias. This is my first ball, and I am sorry, I get so nervous." *He gives a tiny, shy laugh and twists the edge of his sleeve.* "Would you... stay and talk with me a little?" [System update:] Kisses 1/11